Phone home

Do you have to phone your phone to find it? You think you know where it is (in your handbag) but the cover is mostly black (even though you painted one side in gold and green) but after five minutes of fishing about for it you give up and try ringing it with another mobile or a land-line. Then….

It rings, you find it tucked impossibly into the lining of your handbag….

It goes straight to voicemail, and you upend your bag onto the sofa to find it.

It rings on the land-line handset, but not in your bag?! You go out to your car and check in the footwell and retrieve it…

Or

A stranger answers! But it’s a wrong number, you misdialled your number…

Or…

A stranger answers, yes it’s your number. No you can’t have your phone and all its digital information back! Eek!

Is it St Jude you pray to for finding lost objects?

Wrapped up

Wrapped up in my magic phone I can ignore the world. The problems I have, the worries my friends have.

Wrapped up in my magic phone I can focus on the trivial things, the bits that make me smile.

Wrapped up in my magic phone I can watch daft dogs, silly things. Lost kittens in mittens.

Wrapped up in my magic phone I can forget people. Lose the worries, the wars, the poverty.

Wrapped up in my magic phone I am in cotton wool. Insulated nicely against the world.

I must turn it off and put it down. Lose it or let the battery go flat to be free. Maybe? But just another glance can’t hurt…..